


eddie, my love (i love you so)

by philophobiia



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: M/M, Unrequited Love, kinda sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 01:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21066239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philophobiia/pseuds/philophobiia
Summary: Richie shrugs slightly, steadying his wobbling bike. “Awww, Eds, you flatter me more than sweet Mrs. K.”“Beep fucking beep, dickhead.”Richie ignores the flutter in the pit of his stomach.





	eddie, my love (i love you so)

**Author's Note:**

> Alright this is like, hella short and also not that great but I wrote it at like 2 am so

Richie Tozier is eleven the first time he hears the song. 

It’s playing on the radio his father keeps beside the stove in the kitchen, and Richie hears it as he’s on his way out the door to hang out with his friends. He laughs when he hears it.

“_Oh_, Eddie,” He croons later that day, terribly off-key, as they ride their bikes through Lower Derry.

“Y-you suh-sound so fucking ah-awful,” Bill Denbrough mumbles, exchanging a glance with Stan Uris.

“Shut the fuck up, Richie,” Eddie Kaspbrak retorts, rolling his eyes. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

Richie shrugs slightly, steadying his wobbling bike. “Awww, Eds, you flatter me more than sweet Mrs. K.”

“Beep fucking beep, dickhead.”

Richie ignores the flutter in the pit of his stomach.

——————

Richie Tozier is thirteen when it really starts setting in.

He’s watching the television with his father and someone’s started talking about the ‘queer epidemic’.

Wentworth is nodding along, throwing back swigs of his beer as they watch.

“Fags go to hell, remember that, Rich,” Went reminds Richie, glancing down at his son.

Richie nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Yeah, dad,” he agrees, “I know.”

And he does. He knows how they all burn, they all burn in hell. All the homos burn in hell.

So why, then, can he not stop thinking about how nice it would feel to kiss Eddie Kaspbrak on the lips?

——————

Richie Tozier is fourteen and he can’t sleep.

He’s sharing the loveseat in Bill’s living room with Eddie, and the other boy is fast asleep on his shoulder. 

The room is silent, save for the buzz of the television.

Richie sighs, looking down at Eddie, and peels himself off the loveseat.

“Fuck,” he whispers, carefully walking the short distance down the hallway to the bathroom.

The wallpaper is peeling and the sink is chipped, and Richie takes a look in the mirror, at the bags under his eyes and the purpling bruise on his collarbone.

“What the fuck are you doing up?” Stan asks from the doorway, rubbing his eye and scaring Richie half to death.

“I-uh-just got done with your mom. She is a fantastic lover, let me tell you, Stanny-“

“Beep beep, I gotta piss,” Stan interrupts flippantly, pushing past him into the bathroom.

Richie steps out into the hallway, hands up defensively. “Okay, asshole.”

For some reason, his feet won’t move.

And his eyes feel watery.

And he feels like a fucking creep just standing there, listening to Stan piss like a goddamn perv.

It’s a good minute before the door opens, Stan folding the hand towel carefully. 

“Richie, dude, what the fuck?” Stan hisses, narrowing his eyes.

“Stan,” Richie starts, raising his chin as a familiar pressure builds behind his eyes. “_Stan_.”

“Oh,” Stan starts, gaze softening. He reaches up to rest a hand on Richie’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

Richie’s throat burns.

“I-I can’t-“ he breathes, knees starting to give out. 

Stan inhales sharply, tugging him into the bathroom. Richie slides down to sit as soon as his back hits the wall, hands tugging at his hair.

After a moment of hesitation, Stan joins him, trying not to look at the tiled floor.

Richie immediately leans into him, face red and hot in shame. “I’m sorry.”

Stan nods, hand on Richie’s back. “It’s fine. It’s alright. Can you talk about it?”

Richie shakes his head, squeezing his eyes closed. “It’s so gross.”

But Stan isn’t stupid. He bites his lip, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. “No, it’s not, Rich.”

Richie doesn’t try to argue, eyes droopy and breaths slowing.

That’s how he falls asleep, face streaked with dried tears, against Stanley Uris, on the dirty bathroom floor next to Bill Denbrough’s living room.

——————

Richie Tozier is fifteen, and this is really starting to become an issue.

It’s the fifth time that he’s woken up from a dream he should probably be having about someone like Mallory Lawrence from school.

A dream he should be having about a girl.

Still, though, Richie imagines what Eddie’s strawberry chapstick would taste like on his tongue.

——————

Richie Tozier is seventeen and barely holding on.

“So. Prom,” Stan is saying, drumming his fingers on the table. “Are we going together? As a group?”

Ben shrugs, glancing around at the other members of the small group of people. The number had dwindled since that fateful summer of ‘89.

Beverly moved to Portland with her aunt, and the Denbroughs had picked up and left a few months later, the memory of Georgie proving too much. 

“That’s the plan, yeah.”

Richie sighs, looking up from his lunch with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Eddie’s mom bailed, so I suppose I’ll be able to cut some time out of my very busy schedule to hang out with you guys on prom night.”

“Shut your fucking mouth, Richie,” Eddie replies flippantly, turning to Stan with an apologetic smile. “I can’t. I have a date.”

In an instant, Richie’s making a face of confusion and surprise all at once. “You’re kidding.”

Eddie shakes his head, going to whack Richie’s chest. “No, I’m not, dickhead.”

Ben leans forward, head on his hands. “Yeah? Who’re you going with?”

“Katy Gardener,” Eddie says, smiling proudly. “She asked me fourth period.”

“No shit, dude,” Richie manages, pushing his lunch away from him. “I cannot believe a hottie like Katy fucking Gardener asked you, dude.”

Eddie turns a murderous gaze on Richie, blinking once. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

Richie puts his hands up in surrender. “Nothing, dude, I’m just surprised.”

_Yeah, surprised is one way to put it_, a gnawing voice in the back of his head interjects.

_Shut the fuck up._

“You picking her up?” Stan asks, glancing from Eddie to Richie and back again. 

Richie doesn’t hang around to find out. He picks up his lunch, dumps it in the trash can on his way out, and skips the rest of the day to smoke under the bleachers.

——————

Richie Tozier is seventeen and still hoping.

“Oooh, lookin’ sharp, Tozier!” 

Bev’s been in town for a day, and Richie doesn’t know how he managed without her. 

“Why thaaaank ya, Miss Mawsh,” Richie replies in his best southern drawl, grin lopsided.

They’re standing in Stan’s living room, him and Bev and Stanley and Bill, waiting for Ben and Mike and Eddie to arrive. 

“You look kinda fucking stupid,” Stan supplies, glancing up from where he’s sitting on the couch. 

Richie’s suit itself isn’t all that bad, a deep emerald thing that he undoubtedly found in the back of his father’s closet. The pants are a bit short on his lanky frame, displaying the tacky geometric patterns of his socks. 

However, his hair is uncombed and unruly, a mess on top of his head. 

“It’s a rats nest,” Bill agrees, standing up and straightening his jacket.

They’re interrupted by a soft knocking at the door, which clearly doesn’t mean anything to the people behind it, as Mike and Ben just open it up without so much as a moment’s hesitation.

“Hey, fuckers,” Richie greets, running his fingers through the tangled mess that is his hair.

“Hey, Richie,” Ben waves to him, smiling sweetly.

Mike nods in response, eyes raking Richie up and down. “Nice suit,” he nods, taking his place next to Stan.

“Yo, where’s Eds? I’m ready to go,” Richie groans, peering out the window.

“He’s taking Katy,” Mike reminds him gently, a kind smile on his face. “He’ll meet us there, though.”

“Oh,” is all Richie says, turning to the television. “Welp. Looks like ‘ole Spaghetti’s missing out, huh?”

He holds the door for everyone on their way out, trying to ignore the pitying glance he gets from Stan on the way.

——————

Richie Tozier is seventeen and seriously considering cold-blooded murder.

Eddie’s already at the school by the time Richie gets there, wearing an absolutely appalling powder blue suit and bright pink corsage. Katy’s hanging off his arm, all bubblegum pink lipgloss and carefully crimped hair.

“Eds! Baby!” Richie yells as soon as he sees the shorter boy, tripping over himself to race across the polished wood floor.

“Beep beep, asshole,” Eddie grumbles, though he smiles slightly through his attempt at a frown.

The others follow slower, laughing and making fun of the severe lack of effort put into the decor of the dance.

“Hey, Eddie,” Bill waves, hands in his pockets. “Katy,” he adds, almost an afterthought, with a polite tip of his head.

Katy nods back, grip on Eddie’s arm tightening. “Eddie, I just love this song,” she hints, tugging at his arm. 

Eddie sighs, smiling softly and looking around at the other Losers. “I’ll catch up,” he promises, letting Katy drag him out to the dance floor.

The Losers brush it off with quick chuckles, busying themselves with grabbing snacks and drinks from the tables places around the gym.

And, well, it’s just a little too silent for Richie.

“Oh, Eddie, I just _love_ this song, don’t you?” He all but yells, nearly collapsing into Stan’s side for effect.

“What the fuck?” 

Richie feels something wet splash over his neck, and he looks down at his suit. There’s a dark stain on it, which reeks of cheap alcohol and something citrus.

“What the _fuck_?” Stan repeats, his cup of punch now half empty. There’s a large red stain on his once flawlessly white suit, dripping steadily down his leg.

“Um,” is all Richie can say, suit suddenly feeling tight in places it didn’t before.

“Sorry?”

Stan fixes him in a pointed glare, face going red, before turning and stomping off towards the bathrooms. Bill hesitates before following, dragging Mike along behind him.

“I’m,” Richie begins, licking his lips, “I’m going out for a smoke.”

Bev says nothing, only reaches across the table to grab a wad of napkins.

The security guard at the door of the school eyes Richie warily, but doesn’t make any move to keep him inside the school. 

It’s chilly out, and Richie can feel the beginnings of a storm on his bare skin. 

He sighs, sitting on one of the concrete steps leading up to the school, reaching into the jacket pocket of his suit to grab a cigarette and lighter.

“Hey, Rich?” 

Richie nearly drops his cigarette, fumbling with the lighter as he sits up.

It’s Eddie.

“Eds,” Richie greets, turning back to his cigarette and sticking it in between his teeth.

“Why aren’t you inside?” Eddie asks, hopping over a stair to sit beside Richie. “Something happen?”

Richie shrugs, taking his cigarette out of his mouth with a heavy sigh. “Tired.”

Eddie nods, still not quite convinced, and gazes warily at the cigarette. “You’re gonna get cancer. And die. You know that, right?”

“Wowza, Eds, didn’t know you cared ‘bout me that much!” Richie retorts quickly, resting his hand on the right side of his chest. “I’m touched.”

“...your heart is on the other side, numbnuts,” Eddie points out, smirking.

Richie laughs, glancing over at the other boy. 

He really is beautiful.

The shitty disco lights from inside the school are reflected in his eyes and they’re casting a soft purple glow on his gorgeous skin and his lips look so _goddamn soft_ and Richie just wants one little taste-

“Eddie?”

Richie cannot catch a goddamn break.

“Hmm?” Eddie hums, turning to face Katy, who’s standing at the top of the stairs.

“They’re playing a song inside. I thought it was sweet,” she’s biting her lip, and Richie nearly blanches at the sickly sweet shade of pink of her lipgloss.

Eddie nods, getting to his feet and walking up the stairs without so much as a wave back to Richie.

_Eddie, my love  
I love you so _

Richie looks up at that, letting out a humorless chuckle. “Isn’t that just fuckin’ cute.”

He stands up, crushing the cigarette under his heel and straightening his jacket.

_How I’ve waited for you  
You’ll never know _

Richie glances into the school, contemplating returning to the dance, but the sight that greets him is anything but welcoming.

Eddie is kissing her.

Richie bets she tastes like artificial bubblegum, not even the good kind, and she has to lean down a bit to reach him because of her stupid ugly heels, and Richie is certain that this is Eddie’s first kiss, and he just thinks he deserves a better one, that’s all.

(Richie really just thinks it’s unfair that Katy Gardener gets to know what Eddie’s lips taste like.)

With a last lingering glance at Eddie, Richie leaves, content to try and forget the whole night.

He’ll get over Eddie Kaspbrak.

_Please, Eddie  
Don’t make me wait too long _

——————

Eddie wakes up the next morning with a message on the answering machine. 

_“Hey, Eds. It’s Richie. Sorry I left early last night, I just-I got tired. And stuff. You know how it is. Thought I should leave this just in case good ‘ole Sonia was worried. Anyways. I’ll see you at the quarry. Gonna miss you. Spaghetti.” _

Eddie’s confused as to what Richie means by ‘gonna miss you’, he’s going to see him in less than three hours, but that’s just Richie being Richie.

(It’s not.)

——————

Eddie didn’t see Richie at the quarry. None of the Losers did. The only clue as to where he’d gone was a hastily scribbled note left for his mom, something about LA and fulfilling his dreams, and a rental car payment made with his dad’s credit card.

——————

27 years later, Richie Tozier stands backstage at his show, laughing with his producer about something that isn’t actually that funny.

His phone rings, a call from Maine incoming.

“Hold on, gotta take this,” Richie chuckles, answering the phone with a grin.

“Yello, this is Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier speaking,” he recites easily, tapping his foot.

_I’m on in 6 minutes. _

“It’s Mike. Mike Hanlon. From Derry-“

Richie stops breathing.

——————

Richie Tozier is forty years old and it turns out he never fucking got over Eddie Kaspbrak.


End file.
